Vanishing Point
by Wintry Leen
Summary: She could never be like her mother and he was never her sensei. KakaSara. Oneshot. #40


**a/n:** I know I should be updating my other fics but this story has been dying in the pages of my old notebook and I'm finally putting it to rest. Also, it's Feb. 29 and I want to put up something, some rarity, perhaps. This one's for _**Marawa** _ whose JiraSaku fic (go read it!) has convinced me that unlikely pairings work miracles.

As you will see, I took liberty with their ages.

* * *

 _Vanishing Point_

 _._

Every bond is a bond to sorrow.

\- _Dubliners_ , James Joyce

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i.

She didn't know what goodbye meant. When she was nine, her papa drew her against him, his lips moving against the expanse of her forehead, mumbling things like "again" and "sorry" and she didn't care what they were for. She was used to the gesture, to seeing him disappearing off to who-knows-where. She knew she'd see him again walking through that same door with that same blank face, and she had stopped trotting, chasing after him ages ago.

She wasn't worried about her mama crying because her mama's sensei whom she herself began to fondly call _her sensei_ was always there anyway. The three of them would go out together sometimes and watch a float parade and sensei would always buy her cotton candy and her mama would always smile. When her papa left again and her mama had this big, round thing on her stomach, sensei would always be there bringing her mama a lot of food and of course, he'd always bring an extra package for her, too.

When her mama was rushed to the hospital, her sensei was there to keep her company. He'd always tell her that her mama was just tired but that she didn't have to worry because she had trainings to worry about instead, that she needed to be as strong as her papa and her mama and so she must train with him as her sensei. He'd always say that her mama has perfect chakra control and she'd always ask if hers could be "more perfect" than mama's. She loved it whenever his hands would sweep up a tumble of locks from her face, crinkling a smile. And then she'd ask if she could see his face and he would just ruffle her hair, saying it's not yet time, that it's his biggest secret.

When her papa came back, faster than she ever expected him to, the trainings and parades stopped and there was no more cotton candy and ruffling and the chance to tug down at the fabric on her sensei's face. One day, she visited her mama in the hospital and her sensei was there, changing the flowers in the vase. She moved to wake up her mama but her sensei said her mom was resting and feeling all the better because she now has a healthy baby brother and her papa was there, staying.

Still, she'd always wanted to see his face.

ii.

She was in ninth grade when she learned about the body, the skin, the cells, the in-between, and then beyond the interior – the nakedness, the glory, the wonders of this encasement for a ninja like her. Whenever she'd see Kakashi-sensei holding, reading a book with that image of a body (colored, fleshed, real), she'd immediately think of chakra points, blood flow, the veins leading to the heart and she hated it. She knew that her sensei already knew all these too well – he didn't have anything more to learn so the book should no longer be more than a piece of trash to him. She'd usually look at his nonchalant face as he engaged in that "past time" (he was very fond of that word) and she'd will him to drop the book ("dump that trash, sensei!") even when he was too into it he would forget about her most of the time. She hated it so much when instead of helping her do her assignments, he'd devote most of his time treasuring that material.

"Sensei, please put that away," she said one time, unflinchingly stern, challenging him to defy her.

He laughed. "You really are Sakura's daughter."

She'd heard that from him countless times before that even in her sleep, his voice would echo her mother's name and sometimes, she'd wake up, responding. _Yes. Sensei, it's me, Sarada._

But she hated it more, when that image of colored, fleshed body would come into being in the person of Mei-san. There was just no way she could get back her sensei's attention every time the woman was around. But Mei-san was not a bitch (a word she had recently learned to use because some pig-tailed girl used to call her that at school). In fact, Mei-san was too friendly – she'd buy her boxes of cream puffs and ask her after to go home. Kakashi-sensei would never stop her from leaving, always promising a next time. So she'd walk out, head down, believing that next time was never too far anyway.

He took her out on a fun trip to the market one day as per her mother's request. She was tasked to buy certain ingredients and her mother asked Sensei to accompany her. Actually, she sometimes wished that her mom would stop calling him sensei because he's _her sensei_. And sometimes she wished that her sensei wouldn't listen so much to her mother, wouldn't always talk about her – like how during her mother's teenage years, she was able to give the market ground a big, big dent with just a single punch. She'd always wish that she could grow up soon to show him she can do that, too, that she can even beat her own mother.

But she hated it the most when an acquaintance of his passed by and he introduced her with pride: "She's the daughter of my former student. Almost my daughter."

She ran away. It's suffocating, she thought, to be an extension of her mother. She refused to see him, always finding an excuse to escape their encounters, until she learned from her mother that he was sent out to a mission.

She waited for days, nothing new, until in the middle of one night, an ANBU officer stopped by their house requesting her mother's presence at the hospital. The moment she heard his name, she took off running, insisting she wanted to see her sensei _._ Her mother brought her little brother, Satori, to the hospital, telling her to go play with her brother as she performed her duties as a medic.

But she couldn't help it so she peered into the room and saw her mother carefully pressing her glowing hands on his bloodied wounds, then wrapping bandages around his arms as her mother lightly reprimanded him for such carelessness. It shocked her to see her sensei's unmasked face for the first time, looking at her mother with the saddest twinkle of a smile.

The moment her mother exited the room, she lunged at her, burying her face into her stomach, pleading her to teach her how to heal.

iii.

Her father finally decides to stay for good after almost two decades of intermittent presence in their life. She doesn't blame him though. She understands his reason. It's noble - just that she's stopped caring ages ago.

He comes back after getting word about her sensei's withering condition and he, together with her mother and her little brother, is currently waiting outside. She never opens up her heart to her mother but Sakura seems to know what she's going through, rightfully deciding to accord them privacy. She really is her mother, and she tears up at the shelved memories of those days when her sensei would always refer to her as her mother's daughter.

He hasn't regained consciousness, and even if he does, Tsunade-sama says it won't be for too long. So she holds his hand, and for the first and last time, she feels his warmth, fixing it to her memory, reveling in the protests of that pathetic organ inside, screaming for a release.

She's 19, ready to make a confession.

She clutches his hand even more tightly when he finally opens his eyes, slowly turning his head to face her. There's no longer that mirth of youthfulness in his features but his eyes are as gentle and as reassuring as ever. He looks at her the way he has ever since – too kind yet guarded – and she looks back with a newfound certainty. He's no longer just her sensei.

So she speaks, unbidden.

"I love you."

He chuckles. Of course. She expects that but her gaze doesn't waver.

"Do you remember how much you wanted to take this mask off when you were still a child? You can do it now, Sarada."

She doesn't hesitate and brings her free hand to tug his mask down inch by inch, her fingers brushing lightly against his skin – and she stops. She lets go of his hand and sobs into her palms.

"Thank you," she hiccups, "for loving my mom."

She means it. She's hurting not out of pain but out of gratitude and she wants him to know. She's always wanted to take off that mask, to be a step closer, but she can't take something which has never been for her.

She feels his hand touching the back of her hand so she looks at him again, never mind the waterworks.

"Sakura was my precious -"

"Person," she nods in full understanding.

"Student. And Naruto. Sasuke. And you."

Her laugh cascades at the same time that tears stream forth. She continues to look at him with an effort-filled smile, her voice rife with breaks when she speaks.

"You're my most precious Sensei, my most . . ."

"Thank you, Sarada."

He places his hand atop hers, and she never tears her gaze away from him. Even when he closes his eyes, she doesn't say goodbye. She never knows how.

 **...**

 _ **Fin.**_

 _(as always, my heartfelt gratitude goes out to fanofthisfiction (the lovely founder of Fanfiction Review Movement) who's been actively present in my recent writing endeavors.)_

 _(And if you haven't noticed it yet, I'm a fan of Freudian texts.)_

 _(P.P.S: Yes, I've read every bit of Gaiden and I'm well aware of the canon. But this is the realm of fanfiction, of alternate possibilities. And nope, Kakashi here isn't Sarada's surrogate father lol.)_


End file.
